


It's a Wonderful Life (At Least for the Dog)

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:12:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROPMT: Hi! I really like your fanfics so I thought I'd send you a prompt. So Root and Shaw are at a cabin around Christmas time, with Bear of course, and Shaw is doing the whole chopping down the Christmas tree and firewood, and Root and Shaw putting up decorations with Christmas music and hot chocolate. And then they exchange Christmas gifts. And when Root isn't looking Shaw thinks about how there are worse ways to spend her time than with Root and Bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Wonderful Life (At Least for the Dog)

**December 23 2015**

“With i-.. o beh– to the-… ree sh-”

“Finch? Finch.” Shaw’s fingers grip perilously tight around the steering wheel of a silver Volvo S80, teeth clenched in frustration as she makes agonizingly slow headway through large tufts of snow.

“Miss-.. -ould y– r m-..”

Shaw smacks angrily at her ear wig, willing it to work.

“It’s useless, Shaw,” Root tells her from the passenger seat. Taking a quick glance over, Shaw is annoyed to see how relaxed she is. As if the four hour road trip hadn’t snapped even a single nerve. Chair partially reclined and feet crossed comfortably on the dash, Root watches Shaw with a glint in her eyes. “We haven’t had a good point of service in over ten miles, and in fifty feet, we’ll be entering a dead zone.”

“And how would _you_ know that?” Shaw snaps, the ride taking its toll on her aching limbs and her patience. Root tilts her head towards Shaw, raising an eyebrow along with the corner of her lip. Bristling, Shaw throws her gaze back to the road. “Right,” she mutters, “of _course_ you know.”

* * *

 

Without fault, after a few more seconds crawling forward, Shaw receives a tri-tone in her ear, indicating her call has been cut.

“What’s the point of having a number out here if the Machine can’t see where ’ _here_ ’ is,” Shaw seethes, a spec of a cabin peeking out past the sea of white snow and forest of pine trees.

“They’re holiday cabins. She obviously saw them _before_ they left for Christmas,” Root responds easily. She pauses, countenance growing serious as she studies Shaw a moment. “What’s got _you_ so grumpy?” Shaw shakes her head, but doesn’t reply.

From the back seat, there is a small whine, and Shaw’s aggravation escapes in a sigh.

“We’re almost there, boy, just hold on a little longer,” Shaw calls to Bear, voice soft and soothing as she glances through the rearview window at him. He lifts his head from the ball he lays in on the backseat.

They drive another half mile before Shaw stops in front of a small cabin, putting the car in park and allowing the engine to die. Pushing open the door, she stretches out of the car, muscles screaming as she shakes every limb free of fatigue. Then, pulling the back door open wide, she hooks Bear’s collar with a leash, patting at her leg to beckon him out. He complies graciously, leaping from the chair and prancing about in the snow. He snaps his jaw up at the sky as fluffy flakes drift down towards his nose, landing and melting against his fur.

“ _Komen_ ,” Shaw commands, pulling her coat closer to her neck as she begins walking for the cabin. However, before she makes it even a few feet, Root’s arm links around her free one, steering her in a different direction. Shaw has half a mind to rip her arm away, yet Root’s presence instantly chases away the day’s cold and she decides against it.

“Did I get the wrong address?” Shaw asks flatly, not pleased with the snow seeping into her shoes and clinging coldly to her jeans.

“ _No_ ,” Root responds simply, leaning into Shaw’s shoulder, causing a tingle to run down Shaw’s spine. “Just don’t see a better time to meet the neighbors.” Shaw looks to her and Root smiles, taking large, awkward steps through the shin high snow.

Making a lazy arc around densely packed evergreens, Shaw finds a warmly lit cabin nearly identical to theirs, car parked out front and white smoke piping from a tin chimney. A couple surges from the front door, laughing and smiling at one another as they barrel into the snow. The woman with curly blonde hair glances Shaw’s way, then does a double take. Says something to the tall man with short brown hair. He turns.

Root waves at them happily, tugging Shaw along.

“Best behavior, Sam,” Root says through a large smile. “No need to get off on the wrong foot.” Shaw presses her lips together distastefully, dropping her annoyed glare at Root only seconds before the couple meets them at the side of the house.

“Hey there,” the woman says cheerily, all teeth in her grin and all glow in her hazel eyes. “Can I help the two of you with anything?”

Root slips her arm from Shaw’s, and Shaw instantly feels an icy chill in the empty space.

“Uh, hi, yeah,” Root says, a flare of animation in her tone. “We just pulled up to our cabin. It’s over there,” she twists her arm back, pointing towards the way they came. “We didn’t know if the electric panel is inside, or if we have to look around back.”

“It’s inside, under the kitchen cabinets. Farthest one to the left,” the man answers, breath swirling into the air as the snow falls a little more heavily.

“You were right, Sweetie,” Root coos, eyes dripping with affection as she looks to Shaw. Then, bringing her gaze back to the couple, she explains. “Sam told me it’d be inside somewhere.”

“Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you,” the woman tells them both, voice sweet as syrup. “I’m Jill, by the way.”

“And I’m Todd,” the man chips in in an equally friendly tone.

“I’m Root,” Root tells them, and Shaw can’t help but wonder why there’s no alias- no cover story.

“Sameen,” Shaw adds, gaze neutral as she watches them. Picking them apart and putting them back together, trying to find reasons why they would kill or be killed.

“Your dog is the absolute _cutest_ thing,” Jill gushes, kneeling down in the snow to give Bear a good pet. His tail wags, eyes closing with obvious pleasure at the attention.

“So how long have you two been, uh, together?” Todd asks, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his gloved hand, peering between the two.

Shaw opens her mouth, the words on her tongue as she’s more than ready to tell them they’re not a couple at all.

“A little over a year,” Root responds, beating Shaw to it as she drapes an arm around Shaw’s waist. Shaw’s eyes snap instantly over to Root, who gives her a warning glare.

Todd visibly relaxes, apprehension dissipating now that he knows he’s assumed correct- _at least Root’s version of correct._

“Oh, Todd, we’re late,” Jill says, standing back up with her eyes glued to her wrist watch.

“Late for what?” Root questions innocently, shifting her weight to the left. In doing so, her arm slides down a little too far on Shaw’s waist, and Shaw stiffens. Instinct tells her to grab Root’s arm and snap it, but she refrains, nerves beginning to rattle like Mexican Jumping Beans.

The couple look at each other, smile wide, then turn back to Root and Shaw. “We signed up for a swing dance class two towns away. We come here every year, but we’re always trying something different,” Jill tells them with an excited gleam in her eyes. Todd, too, shares the look as they begin to trudge away.

“It was a pleasure meeting you both,” he tells them with a genuine smile. “If the two of you have any more questions about the cabin, feel free to stop by our place any time.”

Root smiles at them, nodding, and Shaw forces on a grin of her own; however, as painful as it feels on her face, she’s unsure if it appears more like a grimace.

They stand a moment more until Jill and Todd fall out of earshot, when Shaw’s boiling blood finally makes her steam.

“Hand. _Off_. Ass.” Shaw snarls between clenched teeth, fingernails dug into the lining of her jacket- it’s all she can do to keep herself from wrenching Root’s shoulder out of socket. For a few seconds, nothing happens. With the way Root’s eyes flare, Shaw knows she heard. But still, they stand like statues.

Then, just when Shaw can feel her tendons pulling with rage, body starting a microscopic quake ready to unleash a volcano, Root pulls her arm away with a devious smile. Instantly, the sensations swirling within Shaw die off, leaving her sneering with no feeling left behind it. Dropping the face and rolling her eyes, Shaw turns around, headed back for their rented space.

“Are we going to follow them?” Shaw calls behind her, needing to put her mind anywhere else. Root comes to her side, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets.

“Not unless you want to go dancing,” Root replies coyly, eyes saying she herself isn’t opposed to the idea. Shaw rolls her jaw stiffly; she shakes her head.

“What’s the point of driving all the way out into the middle of no where to have people a couple yards away?” Shaw grumbles, bitter about the entire arrangement. Not that she had any plans for Christmas, she’s not really the decorate-and-celebrate type, but she could think of a million better ways to spend the holiday than cooped up in a small shack with Root spying through the woods. “If you’re going to be around more people, you might as well stay somewhere with cable.”

“I agree,” Root responds with a soft exhalation. Then, her voice grows a little more suggestive. “And trust me, if I could have it my way, it would just be me and you out here.” They look at each other, and Shaw’s stomach turns the slightest bit as butterflies surge into every inch of her being. “We would have _all_ the privacy in the world.” By the intensity of Root’s gaze and the hint of a smirk on her lips, Shaw finds her ears growing hot, hot enough to turn the snow that lands on her head to water, and then steam. She turns her head away from Root completely, forcing herself to focus on every needle of every branch of every tree. Still, no matter how hard she tries to block everything out, she still catches Root’s soft chuckle at her side, and knows with deep vexation that she’s given Root the exact response she’d wanted.

From between them, Bear gives a quick, sharp bark, big brown eyes burrowing into Root’s. Root leans in slightly, looking down at him with a growing smile.

“And of course,” she responds to his outburst with amusement building in her words, “you’d be there, too, Bear.”

______\ If Your Number’s Up /_______

Shaw slams an ancient axe into the base of a medium sized pine tree, the blade lodging itself about three inches in. Placing her foot below the axe, she throws all of her force back, struggling to yank it back out and go again. Full of pent up emotions that she needed to sort out, and finding that the cabin was void of all life, Shaw offered to bring in a Christmas tree. Root offered to find some decorations, which Shaw- un-admittedly- appreciated. She needed some time alone to think.

However, it’s been twenty minutes, and Shaw has made almost no headway. She’s been stuck in the same part of the trunk for over ten minutes, and the wood shows no signs of giving. Thoughts categorized into relevance and how long she can ignore them, she finds her drive draining, leaving her cold and tired. She rolls her neck, then yanks at the axe once more, nearly tumbling back as it flies out of its place. Taking a few steps back, Shaw wiggles her fingers, that not only feel blistered from the scratchy wood of the handle, but also frozen like small cylinders of ice. She hadn’t bothered to put on gloves. _I didn’t think it would be an all day event._

“How’s it coming, Sameen?” Root yells, voice carrying to the edge of the clearing where Shaw stares pessimistically at the tree. Turning, she finds Root in the open doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, smile wide. While the sight brings a hot flow back into her bloodstream, it does nothing to fix her numbing fingers.

“A little help wouldn’t hurt,” Shaw calls back, turning and throwing her weight into the axe once more. It doesn’t make it even a centimeter further.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Root’s voice drifts to her over the silence of the woods, and Shaw closes her eyes, willing the muscles in her back to stop screaming. “It’s kinda fun watching you do it,” Root coos, and Shaw can’t help the disbelieving smile that tugs at her mouth. She pulls at the axe, turning her gaze discreetly towards Root. She watches from the corner of her eye as Root looks at her, studying her almost. Root tilts her head, leaning out of the door frame a little more, eyes caught on something. “Especially from this angle,” Root continues, and Shaw’s heart crashes through her ribs. All of her muscles pull tight, bringing her arms in as close as possible. With luck- good or bad depending upon your perspective- the axe is dislodged with the sharp, forceful movement, and Shaw crashes back, not braced for the blow. She stumbles, trying in vain to catch herself, but winds up falling back into the snow. The stunned, flustered feeling of moments ago is replaced by unspeakable irritation.

She mechanically wrenches herself back up, jeans soaked and frigid and fingers turning pink. Picking up the axe from where she’s dropped it, she finds a new surge of energy in her to strike the pine once more.

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to cut a wedge out on the opposite side?” Root asks, and Shaw nearly jumps, not realizing Root was at her side. “That way when it falls, it won’t land on you?” Instantly, Shaw’s jittering nerves cease, and annoyance festers.

“No,” she all but spits in reply, “because last time I checked, I’m not a _lumberjack_.” Shaw, rolling her eyes, takes a long look at the tree. Then, grumbling, she travels to the other side of the tree, knocking out a small wedge. Finally, her muscles give, and she lets the axe slide through her fingers, which feel raw.

Root leans against the side of the tree, fingertips trailing along the lines in the bark, eyes not meeting Shaw’s, although she faces Shaw head on. Her eyes flitter up for a millisecond.

“You snore like one,” she all but whispers, and Shaw freezes solid. It has absolutely nothing to do with the cold. Her first thought is: _I don’t snore_. Then, the more important matter at hand floods through. _How the hell would she know?_ Shaw can’t imagine that the Machine would tell her. _No, there’s absolutely no way she would know that sort of thing._ Unless Shaw is missing an entire day somewhere- _which I know I’m not_ \- they’ve slept together, nor does Shaw remember sleeping in even the same room as Root. _What, did she hide out in my-_

Shaw shuts her mind down immediately, suddenly deciding she no longer wants an answer.

“I was only _messing_ with you, Shaw,” Root tells her with a playful smile, eyes sinisterly amused at seeing how wide Shaw’s own are. At once, Shaw drops the small show that gives her away.

“Sure you are,” she all but spits back, reaching down and grabbing the axe once again.

“Want me to give it a shot?” Root asks, and Shaw shakes her head, eyes hardening in a mix of determination and anger.

“No, just move out of the way so I don’t hit you with anything.” Shaw swings.

_CrrrrrrRAAACKKKKKKKKK!_

________\ We’ll Find You /________

After dragging the tree through the snow and losing half the branches trying to shove it through the front door, Root and Shaw finally manage to get the tree standing in the far corner of the cabin. Small enough already, the plump little tree swallows the entire corner of the place, branches like long fingers stretching over the windows. Thankfully, the top still has another foot before reaching the ceiling, and with Root finding a trunk holder earlier in the day, Shaw crawls under the tree, ready to fasten it in. Taking a glance around the cabin as she turns her head away from the tree, she takes in the space for the first time.

Shaped like a T, the part closest to them forms a cozy living room. With a single couch lounging behind a throw rug, it faces a brick fireplace, a large window fitted on either side. From there, the single space expands with a kitchenette on the far right. Stove, sink, microwave, and a few cabinets. In the middle is a large bed, head pushed against the wall and flowing with a multicolored quilt. Looking at it, Shaw makes a sleeping arrangement plan in her head, starting with her taking the couch the first night. Beside that is a white painted door leading to a bathroom, and another window allows light to filter through the room. _Really not that bad._

“Push the tree a little to the left,” Root instructs, bringing Shaw’s attention back to the tree. She complies without comment, shifting the trunk slightly in the holder. She pushes herself up on her knees, back curved and arms outward like a stretching house cat. She wiggles the fixture around a little, not able to tell what it looks like from above.

“How does everything look?” Shaw calls up, hands wrapped around the trunk.

“Everything’s fine,” Root responds, voice filled with aloof fog. Shaw raises an eyebrow from her awkward perch.

“Can you tell me if it’s even?” She asks, trying to sort out what could be on Root’s mind. _The mission maybe_ , Shaw thinks, _although if she’s forming a plan, wouldn’t she include me?_

“Oh, it’s _definitely_ even,” Root replies, yet the way her voice curls in pleasure and spins with fantasy, Shaw has the sudden feeling they aren’t talking about the same thing.

Already aching muscles grinding under her skin, Shaw turns her torso back towards Root, where she finds black socks pointed parallel to the tree. _If she’s not looking at that_ , Shaw thinks to herself, _then what the hell is she-_

Shaw stops. Absorbs. Absorbs how Root is standing facing her and how she is stretched under the tree. Shaw’s teeth clench, ears lighting like an inferno as flames leap into her eyes.

“The. Tree. Root.” Shaw seethes stiffly, not moving an inch as her muscles condense into one tightly wound spring.

“Oh.” Her feet turn towards the tree; they take a step back. “It looks fine, Sam.” Closing her eyes, Shaw begins an agonizingly slow count to ten. When her eyes snap back open, she finds her nails embedded in the soft flesh of the tree where the bark was hacked off. Releasing her death grip, she fastens the tree into the fixture before quickly squirming back out from under the tree. She turns as she stands, and the glow in Root’s eyes as she watches every movement Shaw makes leaves her feeling like prey. Like some sort of field mouse left in the open, defenseless against a diving hawk.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” Shaw spits, flustered as the heat from her ears begins to drain down into her cheeks. A devilish smile flashes brilliantly to Root’s features as she leans in close to Shaw’s face.

“The _worst_ ,” Root replies, voice as if she’s proud of it. Shaw’s entire vision is eclipsed by Root’s eyes, where she can clearly see each intricate detail and fleck of color mixing in her irises. Shaw’s chest begins to tighten. Just when she thinks her heart my implode from the clutching hands in her ribcage, Root slips away, stripping her winter jacket and going to hang it on the wrack at the door.

In a sudden wave, the sting of worn wood on her hands and the smell of sap in her hair and the scratch of pine needles against her skin come rushing to Shaw, and her body becomes a bag of lead. She can feel the dirt caked under her fingernails and on the chill ever present on her face, and wants nothing more than a scalding shower to boil every ache from her body. So, shrugging off her own coat and scarf, Shaw tosses them Root’s way, who barely turns in time to catch them.

“I need a shower,” Shaw tells her, although she’s unsure why she feels the need to explain. Root’s eyes flicker over her.

“Me too,” she replies suggestively. “Mind if I join you?” Shaw’s eyes narrow as her nerves are thrown into an F5 tornado.

“Yeah, I _do_ , actually,” Shaw states dryly, lip twitching from her uncontainable irritation. Every fiber of every muscle starts to snap as she stiffens, mechanically stalking towards the bathroom. Making it in a matter of steps, she shuts the door quickly behind her, letting out a pressure relieving sigh as she leans her head against the door _. I’m out here to save two numbers, not to have Root screw around with my brain,_ Shaw mutters to herself, mind feeling like alphabet soup.

Shaking her head, she peels off her clothes, grabbing a towel from a cabinet and sliding open the frosted glass door of the shower. She stops- looks back to the door. After a moment’s deliberation, she reaches out and locks the door, then turns on the water. In a matter of seconds, the entire bathroom is encased in asphyxiating steam as thick as morning fog. Letting the water run over her shoulders and down her back, Shaw feels all the knots slowly untying themselves. Finally, she begins to relax; however, the haven is short lived. For not a moment later, there is a knock on the door.

“What,” Shaw all but groans, closing her eyes. Silence ensues, and Shaw convinces herself for the second that it was all in her head. Then, she hears the jiggling of the doorknob. “ _Root_ ,” she says in a warning tone, heart beginning to beat just a hair faster.

“Do you _really_ think this little lock is enough to keep me out?” Root asks, voice muffled through the door. There is more rattling from the knob, and Shaw’s jaw tightens.

“No, but me telling you to _stay the hell away_ should,” Shaw spits; her hostility is met by a laugh.

“I need to get in there, Sameen,” Root tells her. “You’ve been in there a while.”

“Well, you need to wait a while longer,” Shaw growls. The lock clicks. “Root, don’t even _think_ about it,” Shaw warns, her words serious as death and fatal as the plague.

“ _Relax_ ,” Root responds with a carefree disposition. “I won’t peek.” Shaw’s eyes widen in anger and disbelief.

“Root, I swear to God if you come in here I will _end_ you.” There’s a moment of quiet, and Shaw can all but see Root’s wicked grin through the door.

“End me all you want, Sam,” and the door opens.

**December 24 2015**

Shaw awakens to Bear’s slobbery tongue licking at her cheek and the sound of Frank Sinatra’s Jingle Bells. With a groan, she sits up on the couch and looks around. Root is no where in sight. Spinning, she finds the bathroom door open and everything empty. A pinch of- _well I’m not calling it worry_ \- urgent curiosity seizes Shaw and she stands, bare feet melting into the rug. Giving Bear a short pet under his chin, Shaw looks around once more. The front door is swung open.

“Oh, good, you’re up,” Root says with a smile, nose red and hair sprinkled with snow. Her eyes shimmer with a lively vibrance that Shaw can’t help but get wrapped up in, and she finds warmth spreading its fingers through her. Whether it be from Shaw’s intense stare or the heat finally reaching Root, Shaw is unsure, but she watches as Root’s cheeks splash with a light pink, and she turns around, hanging up her coat and kicking off her boots. She places a pair of binoculars atop the hearth, and Shaw’s gaze turns from suppressed doting to interest. “I went out earlier to check out the neighbors,” Root explains, and Shaw nods.

“How long were you out there?” Shaw questions, and Root shrugs.

“Two… three hours?” She responds as casually as possible, and Shaw’s lips immediately purse. “It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Root responds with a defensive laugh.

“You could have gotten me up to take a shift,” Shaw tells her flatly, and Root rolls her eyes playful.

“How could I?” She asks with a fondness that leaves Shaw’s annoyed outer shell deteriorating. “You look so adorable when you’re sleeping.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Shaw snaps, pointing an accusatory finger Root’s way, eyes murderous. Root grins.

“Cute then?” Shaw’s jaw clenches. Root raises her eyebrows in a quick, smug fashion. “Thought not.” She begins to walk towards the back of the cabin; however, as she passes Shaw, Shaw notices a twig protruding from a tangle of her hair. Without thinking, she grabs Root’s arm, holding her still as she fishes it out. Coldness seeps in through her fingertips, chilling her palms and freezing her arms. Finally getting the pesky brush free, she finds Root staring at her with deep-set fascination. Unable to stand the searing attention, Shaw drops Root’s arm.

“You’re freezing,” she says, lacking any other thoughts.

“I’ve noticed,” Root replies with an amiable purr, then slides past, grabbing some clothes and heading for the bathroom. Hearing the shower burst to life, Shaw lets out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Closing her eyes a moment, she tries to sort through the jumble of things that ran through her mind in that small span of time; needing to analyze it all frame by frame. She finds her throat growing progressively tighter as she thinks of how much she enjoyed seeing Root come through the door, and how badly she’d relished the invitation of Root’s eyes. _God, this cabin is turning me into a sap,_ Shaw huffs, putting her hands on her hips. Looking down, she finds Bear gazing up at her with open eyes, waiting for something to do. Pursing her lips, Shaw thinks a moment.

“What would you say to bacon and eggs, handsome?” She asks, and his tail wags vigorously in response.

__________\ It’s a Wonderful Life /___________

While the eggs were crispy and the bacon like petrified wood, all three ate without complaint. Shaw continuously caught herself gazing up at Root- hair wet and slung back in a haphazard bun, oversized sweater and sweatpants with the world’s ugliest, fluffiest socks- and couldn’t force down the butterflies that threatened to consume her at any moment. She could barely eat at all as they fluttered about her stomach, tossing her breakfast between them like a game of ping pong.

Nonetheless, Shaw survived, and as she settles back into the couch, she watches Root pull out ancient looking boxes from one of the kitchen cabinets. Dragging them to the tree, she tugs each open, then sets to work. She starts by stringing the lights, covering every square inch of the first three feet, then- realizing she’d quickly run out- more spasmodically. Shaw watches her reach up on her tip toes, slinging the last of the lights at the top of the tree, just to have them fall back down on her and for her to try again.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and expecting a different result,” Shaw comments after the eighth failed attempt. Root pauses, turning her gaze on Shaw with a glare that leaves Shaw’s heart in her mouth.

“I was already committed once,” Root responds, and Shaw can’t help but crack a smile.

“ _Oh?_ ” She replies, acting as if she has no recollection. “And what happened?”

“Straight jacked white isn’t really my color,” Root answers with the crinkle of her nose, and Shaw’s nerves ignite. _Stop it_ , she commands herself, but none of her is listening. Sitting up a little, Shaw waits a minute before speaking again.

“This is just a mission,” she tells Root, a little more serious. “You don’t have to do all of this stuff.” Root gives her a small smile.

“I want to,” she replies, and Shaw nods. Slapping the tops of her legs with her hands, Shaw stands, then meanders over to grab some tinsel from another box. To her amusement, she finds Root bobbing her head with the old, crackling radio, then doing small dance steps as she walks away to grab another tinsel strand. Shaw’s eyes follow her until Root finally feels Shaw’s gaze. Straightening up, a smile slides onto Root’s face. “What?”

Shaw shakes her head slightly. “Is that what terrifying hackers do?” Shaw asks jokingly. “Dance around in pajamas to Christmas songs?” Root’s eyes narrow good-naturedly as she takes a step towards Shaw.

“And you retired U.S. Army operative types don’t?” Root counters before going back to her contained jam.

“No,” Shaw replies, barely holding in a chuckle, “we don’t.”

“You want to?”

“Not at all.”

“Too bad,” Root responds, eyes flashing. “It’s kinda fun.” Shaw rolls her eyes, and they begin the decorating once more. For a few minutes, music notes hold them in tight embraces, flooding their minds and soothing their nerves. They each look at the other, missing eye contact by mere seconds at times as they work.

Finally, Root speaks.

“Did you do this sort of thing when you were younger?” She asks, hanging a red Christmas ball on the tree. Shaw’s mind eases into age old memories, and a soft fondness trickles into her voice.

“Yeah,” she replies, decorating her own space of the tree. “My dad would bring a tree home every year, and then they’d spend about four days arguing about whether it was straight or not,” she looks to Root, who’s watching her with an awed smile. “And then we’d all decorate it- fitting it around their work schedules at least.” Root nods, contentment seeming to shimmer in her eyes at Shaw’s memory. “How about you?” Shaw asks. “You decorate when you were a kid?”

The silence extends just a moment too long.

“No,” Root replies, voice casual but protected by a million locks and a deadman’s switch. Shaw wants to ask what it is, what she’s guarding, but decides it’s a stone best left unturned for the time being. Root says no more, and Shaw keeps her mouth shut, hanging up a glass icicle. She brings her empty hand back down to her side, taking a minute to think. She sighs.

“One song,” Shaw tells her, trying to make the thought of dancing not sound like a death sentence. Although, it might as well be for how Shaw thinks it will turn out. Root turns on her with questioning eyes. “I will dance for _one_ song, but that’s _it_.” A smile slowly spreads itself across Root’s features, just as the radio station crackles, and a man’s century year old voice rasps onto the airwaves.

“We are going to take a quick break from all of our grooving music to play a widely requested tune. Ladies and Gentlemen: Ray Charles; That Spirit of Christmas, on 98.7 St. Nick FM.”

A piano kicks up, along with a slow guitar beat that leaves Shaw with mixed emotions. _A slow song? Of all the chances, this song has to be a_ slow _song?_

Before she has time to groan in annoyance, surprise surges through her like an electric charge, zapping her entire spinal cord and leaving her skin tingling. Root’s arms are over her shoulders, fingers lacing together behind Shaw’s head. Shaw nearly coughs on her own saliva, not at all expecting this. Slowly, after the initial shock wears off, she places her hands gingerly at Root’s sides, then allows them to slip around her waist entirely. She can barely hear the man who sings, just a few piano chords and the rush of her blood surging through her temples. The feeling is so foreign- so alien- she can barely believe it’s hers. But, here she is, heart hitting against her ribs and eyes flittering anywhere except Root’s face. It’s like some sort of dysfunctional eighth grade dance, and Shaw has no idea what to do.

Root rests her forehead against Shaw’s. As if Shaw is her own radio station, all signal stops, leaving the contents of her skull nothing but dead air. All thoughts cease entirely, only able to comprehend the feeling of Root’s breath running across her nose. Looking to Root for the first time, she finds that Root’s eyes are closed, and decides to close hers as well. It’s peaceful. A constant rocking motion with blank space in her head and Root in her arms; the song draws to a close.

For a second, neither do anything, just stand there. Then, Root brings her head back, and Shaw opens her eyes. In a fleeting moment, she sees something extremely serious in Root’s face, but it’s quickly replaced for her signature smirk and sinisterly provocative gaze.

“You _know_ ,” she tells Shaw, separating her hands and running her finger gently along the ends of Shaw’s hair, “I think I saw a mistletoe in one of those boxes.” Shaw smiles.

“Tell you what,” Shaw says, voice mimicking Root’s as she watches Root’s eyes swirl with surprise. “You can go grab it and take it straight to Hell with you.” With that, she draws back, leaving Root to fold her arms, giving Shaw a barely amused stare. Shaw shakes her head, body jumping with adrenaline as if she’s been shot at. As if she’s been in heavy firefight, near death with the stakes at their highest. It’s the only thing she can compare this feeling to, only this is so much greater than that.

**December 25 2015**

The night had been cold, and Shaw crawled, exhausted, into bed at only eleven p.m. The mattress had been warm and inviting, and the quilt a heaven of it’s own. Yet, as she awakens on Christmas morning, she can’’t help but notice that the front of her is significantly warmer than the back. Eyes still closed she tries to file through any explanations that don’t involve moving. Coming up empty, she grudgingly blinks open her groggy eyes.

What she sees sobers her right out of her sleep drunken state.

She’s face to face with Root, who lays asleep directly in front of her. There’s not even an inch of space between them, and to Shaw’s mortification, she finds her right hand resting at the side of Root’s neck, fingers coiled in her hair. _Shit_ , Shaw thinks to herself, amongst other things. _She can’t see this, there’s no way in Hell I’m going to let her see this._ Swallowing the lump in her throat, Shaw watches Root’s sleeping form, pondering the most effective way of untangling herself from Root when Root stirs.

_Shit._

Root’s eyes flicker open, then focus in. The second they register Shaw, a sleepy smile drifts onto her face. “Well, Merry Christmas to you too, Sweetie,” she murmurs in a voice muddied with sleep. Shaw finds herself whole heartedly admitting how terrified she is in liking this situation so much.

“What are you doing here,” Shaw hisses out, fury boiling out in replace of any other emotion.

“You tell me,” Root counters, smitten. “ _You’re_ the one who rolled all the way over _here_.” Taking her hand from Root’s hair, Shaw looks over her shoulder, and finds that they are, indeed, both on the last absolute sliver of the bed, and devastatingly far away from where Shaw started out.

“I slept on the couch the other night,” Shaw tells her defensively. “That means _you_ were supposed to sleep on the couch _last_ night.” Devilish humor swallows Root’s no-longer tired eyes.

“That’s your rule,” she says simply. “I have _no_ such obligations.”

 _No such obligations_ , Shaw mutters to herself contemptuously, hands clenching into fists. However, she finds it exceedingly hard to stay angry with Root so detrimentally close. “It’s called _manners_ ,” Shaw informs her, for lack of any better come back.

“If you let me stay a little longer,” Root tells her, eyes serious, “I bet I can prove to you I don’t _have_ any.” Shaw rolls her eyes, yet doesn’t move. Isn’t sure if she wants to. Root makes a move forward, but Shaw instinctively shoves her back, and Root grabs Shaw’s waist to stop from falling back. It’s useless. Too close to the edge of the bed, Root topples over, taking Shaw down with her. Root’s shoulder blades slam down onto the hardwood floors, Shaw crashing down on top of her. Their heads smack together, and both instantly shut their eyes, wincing. Shaw tenses instantly, body pressed to Root’s with Root’s arms all but squeezing the life out of her. From beneath her, Root emits a small, breathy laugh. Shaw feels her fingers clenching, arms ready to reach up and wring her neck until the skull splitting pain in her forehead recedes; yet, before she gets the chance, Bear bounds forward at them. Unable to stop himself in time, he barrels directly into their tangle, leaving the three of them balled up together on the floor. And, as Bear muzzles Shaw’s cheek with his wet nose, she can’t help but join in Root’s laughter.

________\ (At Least for the Dog) /_________

The fireplace crackles, the Christmas tree glows, and snow drifts lazily down before the windows as the sun dips below the tree line. Shaw holds onto her mug of hot chocolate, allowing the heat of the ceramic to warm her fingers, and the heat of the contents to burn her throat. The day had gone past unproductively after the morning ‘incident’. They’d checked in on their numbers a few times, but after their skin began to burn and their toes went numb, they retreated back into the warmth of the cabin. Sitting on the couch, Shaw has her legs crossed before her, and Root tucks her feet in under herself. Bear rests on the rug below them, teeth grinding down a bone the size of Manhattan with a small bow on the end.

“How much longer do you think we’re going to be here?” Shaw asks, peering away from the fire to look at Root. Finding that Root is already gazing at her, her stomach begins to fill with nerves. Root watches her a minute, saying nothing.

“How ever long they stay here,” Root replies at last with a small shrug. “Unless we can take out the threat before then.” Shaw nods slowly, then takes another long swallow of her beverage. She relishes the heat as it touches her lips, the steam splashing against her nose and heating her cheeks.

Placing her drink down on a small table beside the couch, Root leans over the arm, shuffling with something before sitting back up, brown paper bag in hand. “It’s not wrapped, but-”

“No,” Shaw cuts her off, eyes ice on Root. “We are not doing the gift thing.”

Root gives her a look.

“ _No_.”

The stare holds, Root’s eyes disapproving and her lips pressed together, little brown package sitting in her hands as she silently waits. Finally, the dam breaks, and Shaw can’t stand the soul piercing gaze any longer. Setting her jaw in annoyance, Shaw leans her side against the back of the couch, rolling her eyes with a microscopic sigh. Then, closing her eyes, she gives a curt nod.

Root smiles triumphantly, then hands her the bag. Shaw takes it gingerly, knowing with Root, it could be anything from a pen to a pipe bomb. Slowly, she pulls away at the top, unrolling the top of the bag with aching sluggishness. Finally, the open appears, and Shaw tugs it open half a centimeter.

“Scared, Shaw?” Root teases, and indignation instantly swells in Shaw’s chest.

“ _Please_ ,” she retorts, “I’m not _scared_.” With her fluster like kerosine on a match, fire floods her system, and she reaches her hand inside without checking for what it could be. Something cold and hard presses into her skin, and she coils her fingers around it, pulling it out. She finds, with some curiosity, the handle of a knife. Opening her palm to scan it quickly, she finds a safety latch and button on the side. Quickly, she fiddles with them, and a metallic blade bursts from the top of the handle, edge sharp enough to cut a week to twelve days. Shaw peers at it, taken aback, spinning it slowly in her grip.

“I’ve never seen something like this,” Shaw thinks aloud, and Root’s grin grows a little.

“Like it?” She asks, and- bringing her gaze to Root- she nods. Then, after toying with it a moment more to get it to compress, Shaw stands, heading for her duffle bag, then rummages inside. Upon return, she’s carrying a large, black clip.

“And _who_ was saying we aren’t doing the gift thing?” Root goads, smirking as Shaw sits back down. Shaw’s lip twitches.

“Just take it before I change my mind,” she retorts, although she doesn’t mean to sound so harsh. Handing it over, she watches as Root slides out one of the bullets, staring at it in confusion. It’s a vibrant yellow at one end with black prongs on the other, copper wiring bundled together within a transparent shell. On the side, the word ‘XREP’ is stamped on the casing.

Shaw waits another minute as Root struggles to sort out what the alien ammunition could be, before finally taking mercy.

“They’re taser projectiles,” Shaw explains, catching Root’s attention. “Load them in a shot gun, and they work like tasers.” Devilish light sparks in Root’s eyes, and Shaw wonders with dread if she’s made a wise choice. She goes with no.

Stashing the knife at her waistline, Shaw pushes herself back into the sofa, drinking the hot chocolate once more, and thinking for the umpteenth time what a mission this has been. _It doesn’t even feel like a mission_ , Shaw tells herself, _it’s a- a what? A vacation?_ Personally, she believes it’s only a vacation if there’s a beach and brandy, but decides this, oddly enough, is close.

She’s unsure of how much more time passes as she again watches the fire, wood crackling in time with the faint radio. However, it’s late enough for fatigue to claim her, and her eyelids weigh down.

Root leans her head on Shaw’s shoulder, curling up at her side. At once, Shaw freezes, tired eyes pumped with life as her stomach tightens. A million thoughts run through her mind, all trying to scream over the other until Shaw can’t distinguish anything other than useless sound. She has no idea what to do- _let her stay or shrug her off?_ \- and her brain short circuits. In a matter of seconds, Root’s head grows heavy on Shaw’s shoulder, breath deep and even as sleep overcomes her. This only causes Shaw to fight within herself.

_She’s asleep, you can’t just push her off._

_Sure, I can._

_Don’t do it._

_Go ahead._

_Leave her be._

With an inaudible sigh, Shaw drops her head to the back of the couch, gazing up at the ceiling, as if the peeled white paint holds all the answers. Bear gives a tired huff before standing, stretching his legs, and putting large Bambi eyes on Shaw. She can feel their intensity burning holes through her skin, and finally brings her gaze down to his. She nods.

As if trying not to disturb Root, Bear stealthily clambers onto the minute space left on the couch between Shaw and the armrest. Tail hanging off the edge, he rests his head in her lap, front paws stretched over her leg. She gives him a light pet, watching his eyes as they flitter shut.

Somehow alone now- at least no longer under the prying eyes of the two- Shaw can’t help but let the smallest of smiles show on her features. _It’s not that bad,_ she says to herself, gaze turning on Root. _Hell, there’s plenty of worse ways to spend Christmas than with Root and Bear_. And so, at last succumbing to her situation, Shaw rests her left arm on Bear’s side and wraps her right around Root’s waist. Then, as the crackle of the fireplace fades away, she finds herself drifting off, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays!


End file.
